


Loved like a Sister

by EmmaofTarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: AU, Bisexual Characters, Brienne of Tarth Bottom, Brienne of Tarth Top, Cersei Lannister Bottom, Cersei Lannister Top, Cunnilingus, Dominant, Drunken Flirting, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/F, Femslash, Fingering, Flirting, Lesbian Sex, Love Triangle, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Plot with some sort of plot but not really tho, Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rare Pairings, Sexual Content, Smut, Submissive, plot with feelings, post s03 ep07, reference to twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-13 16:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19255180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaofTarth/pseuds/EmmaofTarth
Summary: Brienne of Tarth seeing Cersei Lannister in the flesh cannot help but compare the twins and unsurprisingly desires them both. Cersei teases and taunts Brienne for this unrequited crush until she begins to see the appeal of the tall lady knight with sapphire eyes.





	1. Teasing a Knight

He was so alike his sister. Cersei. She sat in her claimed throne, a lioness prideful of her possessions and almost purring in upkeep with her facade of happiness. Her long golden mane - never unruly in presentation - lay in ringlets that cascaded down her shoulder hitting her clavicle and falling low to her breasts. The length of her hair and the curve of her breast the only tell-tale sign between the golden haired, green-eyed twins. Lannister’s gold was one of the most sought after rewards in the whole of the seven kingdoms - though little knew whether it was the precious metal or the Lannisters themselves. Their skin kissed by the sun even on its departure, their hair shone bright as if molten gold was poured atop their heads by the Gods, and they of course were constantly adorned with golden garments when presented to their kingdom. Had Brienne not known Jaime, not heard his horrors and felt his pain in the baths of Harrenhal, she would have been swept up in the pure luxury the Lannister’s exuded. Yet even after knowing Jaime smeared in filth, belittled, and crippled while on their travels, Brienne was still intoxicated by his beauty and, in their arrival to King’s Landing, his sister soon lay claim to this intoxication as well.

The proud lion and lioness were careful in the company of others, rarely around one another, never allowing more than a passing glance. Brienne had known of the rumours before meeting the Kingslayer, had known that their green eyes were locked solely on one another, and yet she had always ignored these rumours. That was before Jaime admitted his crime of love to none other than his twin. Brienne could not fight with the immorality of the love with the earnest in Jaime’s eyes and now having seen the beauty of the Queen – despite her knowing it wrong. With such a beautiful queen it was no wonder there was a considerable lack of tolerance to ugliness in the Red Keep. So, it seemed strange that Brienne had been granted invitation to the royal events time after time. Despite knowing she was only given such an invite as the daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth, Brienne was permitted to wear loose, linen culottes and a high-neck tunic in a matching indigo dyed by nightshade sporting the Tarth emblem at her chest and practical, brown leathered boots. At events like these in her youth – for that was the last time she had attended such events – she had been forced to wear ball gowns like the other ladies, though unlike the other ladies her shoulders were broad, broader than any man’s, the skirts always hit midcalf due to her enormous height, and the fine silks she was dressed in washed out her pale complexion. Never as comfortable as when in her armour, her body ached for the familiar weight of a sword resting upon her hip, yearned for a horse between her thighs and the throb that followed, the honesty of the road now only envisioned with Jaime by her side, although this attire was a good substitute but a surprising one. As she roamed the Red Keep’s grounds having been in King’s Landing only days, Brienne felt the look of curiosity on her shoulder and glanced back discretely. It was a shock to her that it was Cersei that held such a travelling gaze, beginning at her short, nearly white hair, to her broad shoulders and muscular back, lingering on her small, tight arse, and ending at her brawny, trunk legs, before she grasped a goblet from her cup bearer and gulped thirstily at what one would assume was red wine. A prickling sensation rose from the base of Brienne’s spine to her thick neck and mantled the skin with a crimson colour – the gaze igniting a fire between her strong loins. She had never felt such desire targeted towards her especially by such a specimen of a woman. 

Cersei’s eyes, before then, had held a consistent disdain in their gaze. Brienne, often a victim to such a gaze, found it refreshing almost flattering that this look was not solely for her beastly appearance and height but a personal disdain coated with resentment, anger and jealousy? – surely not. Brienne felt threat in these hard stares but never unsafe. She had “saved” Ser Jaime Lannister so she knew, for now at least, Cersei would do her no harm. The green emeralds akin to her sapphire eyes in their vibrancy and captivity. Brienne knew her only beauty was in her Tarth eyes and yet her eyes were often not the subject of Cersei’s gaze as they were Jaime’s, and though Cersei was not as timid and kind as her male equivalent, Brienne felt herself drawn to the mysterious woman always with a goblet at hand.  
“Brienne of Tarth,” the lioness purred, silently approaching from behind with light footsteps. Brienne nodded, a little lower than she usually would, feigning a lazy bow to her majesty – she had always been bad at pleasantries and royal etiquette. “You are Selwyn Tarth’s only daughter, correct?”  
“Correct, your grace.”  
“What a disappointment for your father. You are a lumbering beast, a male in a somewhat female body, and surely a maid for life,” with these venomous words from wine stained cupid’s bow Cersei sauntered drunkenly towards her victim of tongue lashings, the only spar Brienne would always lose, she continued, “an ugly mare not fit to be a bride or a mother and not even in your unconventional choice of living have you served those you have pledged to serve to any success.” That part had stung, her ugliness not of any concern to her knowing she was a beast in comparison to the golden beauty before her, but her failure of honour hurt Brienne so much so she retaliated in words.  
“Not a maid, your grace,” she quipped never before divulging such information and trying hard to not turn her infamous beet red. Cersei’s smirk turned upwards to show her lion teeth and her eyes glinted deviously. Brienne knew she had made a mistake in antagonising her, provoking the lion more regrettable than poking the bear with a sparring sword days before.  
“Who took ‘Brienne the Beauty’s’ maidenhead? Was it you?” She pointed to the cup bearer no older than fourteen. “Or you?” She sloshed her wine in the direction of the young girl handmaiden definitely younger than eight. The two children shook their heads red faced and gazes averted. Cersei leaned in closer than ever before, her drunken breath heavy on Brienne’s exposed neck, although warm goose flesh appeared on her skin. “Was it the bear you so heroically fought? A sexual romp affront the randy Bolton men? I hazard you toppled over the wild thing and took it by force, brandishing your wooden sword like a cock you so desire to wield yourself.” Cersei’s voice had become quite ragged in her description of this fantasised performance, her heart pounding particularly fast through the exposed cleavage in her corseted dress, and her lips delicately traced with her pink tongue. Brienne lowered her eyes, hands still clasped and held to her lower back, forcing Cersei to look into the seas of Tarth.  
“You sound quite jealous,” she spoke no louder than a whisper, aware of the attendants’ close presence. It took a moment for Cersei to grasp what had been said, but once registering the words her eyes widened and she raised her hand to Brienne’s cheek in a sharp slap. The Queen’s Mother stalked off to the Red Keep with her entourage in sue, leaving Brienne red faced and her cunt drowning in its own wetness.


	2. A Queen's Desecration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei pleasures herself and thinks of Jaime or so she tries ... meanwhile our lady knight devises a plan to approach Cersei.

Cersei’s taunting had brought on a greater arousal from the lady knight that she had anticipated. Although a master of concealment, the creeping redness climbing like ivy up the Keep’s walls and her beautifully blonde eyelashes fluttering when attempting to hold Cersei’s gaze and seduce her. Toying with the beast, that thought she had a glimmer of a chance with Jaime, had proved more amusing than first assumed. Cersei never would have predicted the haughty replies and fixed gazes - between the fluttering lashes - from the timid knight. How fun, she had thought, an opponent for once. Sparring with the experienced swordsmen in an area she was unfamiliar: words. Cersei replayed their conversation in her head once back in her private chambers and the chambermaids were dismissed. She felt herself growing quite aroused at the memory, the sting in her hand from the slap on the wench’s ivory skin caused her to reach beneath her skirts and succumb to her hands. Jaime still sickly and his recovery slow, and with cousin Lancel’s sudden absence, Cersei was left with no choice but to pleasure herself as she had in the many days her brother was gone. She could have any man or woman but desecration was necessary in such a political climate that she dared not go out with the family. She thought of her brother’s golden skin and toned muscles contracting and releasing around his shoulder blades as he drove his plentiful appendage within her. Cersei’s nimble fingers rubbed vigorously on her clitoris and nipping at her nipples with her other hand. Her walls were sopping wet with only a few minutes of working on herself, and she slowly eased her hand working on her breasts to her thighs, teasing herself with the slowness of her hand. Patience, however, was not Cersei’s strong suit and she quickly began pumping three fingers deep within her cave causing a moan to rise from her throat. She drew close to climax, in her mind she reached for Jaime’s hair and imagined staring in to his eyes as she came but instead it was white blonde straw hair and those deep blue eyes that forced the shivering climax and the utterance of her name: “Brienne!” For the first time since she was a girl, Cersei was flustered. Her head had been thrown back in pure ecstasy when the strangled gasp of that woman’s name had escaped her consistently tight throat and knitted lips. Curls tangled themselves as she writhed against her own fingers wishing they were someone else’s fingers, tongue, wooden sword. Upon the release, she realised her mistake and arose indignantly from her bed despite there being no other’s in the room. Her dress’s skirt flurried in the decent from the bed, the swirling mass almost toppling over the previous reigning Queen, enraging her and causing her delicate hands still wet from her own pleasure to shred the expensive fabrics to rags.  
Days passed and Cersei avoided looking at Brienne like she did her twin, never letting her eyes linger despite the yearning to be as close as she had been during their first encounter alone. When passing the tall woman Cersei would flurry her skirts, swooshing them so violently they hit Brienne’s legs and left her lingering rose scent in her wake. Brienne every time quietly gasping at the contact no matter how brief and empty the gesture. Their wordless flirting went on incessantly for some time, unseen to the naked eye, and by each passing day Brienne knew that Cersei would not approach. Whether it be the political strife, the soon coming recovery of Jaime, or her haughty pride Brienne knew she could not leave King’s Landing without tasting the Queen Mother, at least once. Her crush on Jaime Lannister a girl’s fanciful dream, him never showing any signs of attraction never mind lust for the manly woman but Brienne knew of Cersei’s wandering gazes and fast-paced heart enough to feel confident in her pursuit of the monarch. The grandeur of the halls in the Keep were not a consistency throughout the Lion’s Den and Brienne often found herself unofficially guarding dingey passages between each of the large halls – patiently awaiting Cersei’s steady, confident stride. Devising such a plan felt uneasily like a scheme, conducted by Peter Baelish, but Brienne felt there were no other way. Unable to approach in the day time with the public watching eyes (there had already been talk of Cersei’s violent outburst to one of her female guests though she would not be judged so if they knew which female guest it had been towards) and never being granted access to her royal chambers without invitation. Skulking in corridors, Brienne felt, was the only option.


	3. The Royal Elephant in the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is more brazen in her advances than Cersei could ever had imagined. When "power is power" will Cersei relinquish it to someone customarily so idle to it?

“My Queen!” Cersei had passed Brienne quickly, no guards on her stead, but with her usual high head, lowered in passing. Brienne had almost missed the opportunity, shrinking back due to Cersei’s outright rejection to acknowledge her existence. Although knowing this was a rare encounter she yelped out to the object of her desire without yet realising her station.  
“I am not your Queen, my lady knight.” Having stopped without turning, her reply meant more as a sneer but delivered more affectionately than intended.  
“I am not a lady.” Brienne had seen the reaction Cersei had had to her rebellious words before and so tried to replicate the quiver in her voice and pounding of her heart now. She took a large step forward closing the distance between them, “and I am no knight,” another step equally large, “but I am yours if you want me. Cersei.” Her name hung in the air almost as heady as the Lannister's aura itself.   
“If you ever address me as such again I shall have elephants shipped from the Iron Banks of Braavos, the only beast more oafish than you, and have them trample you into the dust,” she whipped her head around in a flurry of curls for the words to dig deep within Brienne’s armour to her heart. When this expected advance arose, Cersei had planned to sneer and scoff at the boldness of such a homely woman, she had expected to find the offer laughable, she hadn’t expected to enjoy the verbal foreplay and closing distance between their persons. So she responded in the only way she saw fit: with rage.  
“It is your name, is it not?" A pause, "I wish for you to view me as the woman I am and I wish to view you with the same regard,” hesitation “... with the same lust.” As her blue eyes shone, Cersei’s green eyes darkened.  
“You are no woman like I! There are no women in the seven kingdoms of Westeros like I! Not Essos nor the furthest West of Westeros!” Her shouts never reaching further than Brienne's ears as never to draw unwanted attention, Cersei instead thundered towards Brienne backing her already immaculate posture into the erect wall behind her. Choosing to not back down Brienne continued in her goading, though thick with compliments.  
“I know that,” she said simply. “Is that not the reason I tease you so endlessly in hope of some form of communication with you? In my pursuit of you I risk my love for your brother, I risk against the wrath of Joffrey’s Widow’s Wail and I risk my oath to Catelyn Stark in my endangering my mortality. You are no woman like I, nor any other I’ve ever seen, and that is why I pursue you with such fervour.” Pawing her oafish hands to Cersei’s ear and tucking a loose thread of gold behind it. Cersei had never expected that Brienne would be so brazen as to lean down and kiss her wanting lips or for Cersei to want them and melt in to the kiss accordingly. Their tongues lashed against one another, fighting for dominance in the lustful, passionate kiss so much so that it was becoming violent. Cersei puncturing the skin on Brienne’s lip causing the taste of blood to mingle with their swapped saliva. Brienne quickly retaliating by yanking Cersei’s golden locks so hard that Brienne had to catch her mid fall like an intricate ballroom dance. Indignantly Cersei, through gasps, said “am I not your Queen?”   
“Not by your will and so I will ravage as though you were a mere scullery maid ... no, far too timid ... as though you were the bear at Harrenhal."


End file.
